


The First Day of Forever

by toxic_corn



Series: Who's Keeping Who [1]
Category: The Boy (2016 Bell)
Genre: Dark, F/M, Kidnapping, Manipulation, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:08:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29414646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toxic_corn/pseuds/toxic_corn
Summary: Brahms has released you and... it's snowing. Why aren't you running?
Relationships: Brahms Heelshire/Reader, Brahms Heelshire/You
Series: Who's Keeping Who [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2160807
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	The First Day of Forever

It's snowing.  


You sit on the floor, right on the blue runner in the hallway, and stare out the window. It's coming down in thick flakes and absurdly it makes you think of the ending of Home Alone, when Kevin McAllister looks outside and sees his scary old man neighbor reuniting with his family. You could barely make out the actors, the snow had been falling so thick.  


Was it close to Christmas? You have no idea, have had no sense of time since you woke up in the night and found Brahms Heelshire lurking about the house. You don't know how long he had you tied to the bed, how long he ignored your crying, how long he screamed at you to stop making him feel bad. It was mid July when you came to this house wearing a cute floral sun dress you got on sale at Kohls for the trip, your last splurge with the last bit of money you had before taking this new, exciting job.  


He untied you this morning. At first you thought he was going to flip you over, tie you in a new position, but no. No. He untied you and then left the room without a word. It had taken hours before you'd been able to move, out of fear but also because your body was unused to movement and nothing would work. Eventually, you'd flopped out of bed onto the floor and crawled out to the hallway where you saw...  


It's snowing.  


There's something comforting about it. You think back to a simpler time in your life, spinning around in your backyard with your tongue out, catching flakes while your mother calls for you to come in, it's too cold out.  


You think this may be happening because you had an orgasm last night.  


Brahms was always rough in bed, not out of any kind of cruelty as stupid as that sounds given the restraints he's used on you, but more like the rough uncertainty of a man who doesn't know what he's doing. You doubt Mrs. Heelshire in her prim sweater set and string of pearls sat down with a pubescent Brahms and talked him through an anatomy book. _”Now, Brahms, when you capture your bride, be sure you can locate her clitoris.”_ No, last night he hadn't done anything new. You're not sure what it was, if maybe you were already a little wet from the dirty dream you'd had earlier of fucking your college boyfriend in a study carrel in the library, but it hadn't hurt like it usually did. It actually felt kind of nice, you'd found your hips moving with him of their own accord. And then strangely, grotesquely, miraculously, you'd come.  


He hadn't known what was happening at first, had continued to thrust inside you but then he'd paused. You saw the eyes inside that horrific mask flash with a question he didn't dare ask, but there was no hiding what was happening. Warmth had flooded your body, your thighs had clamped around Brahms's narrow hips and you'd betrayed the softest little cry before biting your lip, trying to hide it.  


But he'd noticed.  


Your rub your legs to try to coax away the painful pins and needles feeling. You're grimacing at how long your leg hair is when you sense rather than hear Brahms behind you. You turn to find him approaching you almost timidly. It would be funny if... no. It isn't funny.  


You open your mouth to ask what time of year it is but instead what comes out is, “Why are you still wearing the mask?”  


“You don't want to see,” he says, his voice low.  


“Let me see,” you insist. You don't know why you're pushing this but something tells you that it's important.  


Brahms comes closer and sits down next to you, crossing his legs like a school boy joining a story circle. He taps his fingers on his knees and exhales a loud, impatient breath. You wait. Then finally his hands go up to the mask and draw it away.  


He's been badly burned. You wonder if he got any medical attention for it but figure probably not. It's most likely why it looks so bad. You've seen people with burn scars before and they didn't look like this. Probably because they weren't hidden inside a country house for several years but were instead taken to a hospital.  


“Oh,” you say. “You look like the guy in Maroon 5.”  


He does a little. If the guy in Maroon 5 hadn't been out in the sun in 20+ years and grew a raggedy, bushy beard.  


“What's Maroon 5?” Brahms asks warily.  


“A band,” you reply.  


“Are they cool?” he asks like he suspects what the answer is. From what you remember Malcolm saying, Brahms wasn't liked in school and was probably set up for insults on the daily.  


“They're popular,” you reply. “I don't think a year's gone by when they haven't had a hit.”  


He relaxes. “Oh. Okay.”  


You watch him carefully. You've asked him to take off the mask and only had to press a little but he did it. Who knows what else you can get him to agree to? Despite yourself, you imagine fleeing the house while Brahms roars up in his room in pain, regretting letting you go. It's probably obvious to anyone that you watched Beauty and the Beast every single day when you were eight years old.  


No, he's not going to let you leave. You know that. But you can get things to make your stay easier. You need to watch him, learn his every move to the point where you can predict what he'll do next. You're not going back to being tied to that bed for months. This is the first day of forever in this house and you refuse for it to be a miserable one. You're loose. It's snowing. You've had worse days.  


“Can you take me to the bathroom? I want to wash,” you say.  


“Of course,” Brahms replies quickly.  


When he scoops you up in his arms and carries you back down the hallway to the bathroom, you feel yourself beginning to smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I've decided to make this a series that maybe I'll drop in and add to when inspiration hits. This is too dark for me to play in all the time and I only wrote this because... it's snowing. :P


End file.
